One Dark Throne (Three Dark Crowns #2)(100)

“This should never have happened,” Antonin says, seated at a dark, oval table with his head in his hands. “Two poisoner queens in the same cycle. Queen Arsinoe should have come to us. She should have been ours to raise.”

“Along with you, Queen Katharine,” Genevieve says quickly, and Antonin looks up.

“Of course along with her.”

Katharine smiles through closed lips. Of course. But Arsinoe seems to have been the stronger poisoner. Had they been raised together, Katharine would have lived only until Mirabella was killed. Then she would have found herself at the sharp end of a knife. Possibly held by an Arron.

Katharine turns toward the door. A messenger is arriving, and the gathered people rise from their chairs.

“What news of Mirabella?” Luca asks sharply. “What news of the queens?”

“We were too late,” the boy says, breathless. “They escaped on a ship.”

“And you did not give chase?” Pietyr snaps, but the poor messenger looks at the ground.

“There would have been little point with Mirabella at the helm,” Luca answers for him. “With her wind and her currents, no one was going to catch them.”

“A gift as strong as hers, she might have sunk them for trying,” Sara adds, and Katharine narrows her eyes.

“What direction did they sail?” Luca asks.

Katharine drifts through the room, to the eastward-facing windows. From there, she can see clear past the port and on to the sea. But there is no tiny ship fleeing up the coast to Rolanth. There is no tiny ship anywhere that she can see.

“They sailed straight out, High Priestess,” the boy says. “Straight out and away to the east.”

“They must be found,” Pietyr says. “Stopped.” When no one hurries to move, he turns on them angrily. “It was you who decreed their fates! Will none of you now enforce the decree?”

Katharine places her hands atop the cold, stone sill of the window. On her forehead, her scabbed crown has been wiped and made clean, once again a fine, black band. She stares into the distance and feels the muttering of the dead queens deep in her bones. She has done what they wanted. Become what they intended.

Across her city, the dawn grows bright. It shines off the black buildings and cobblestone streets, hueing them orange and pink. Katharine looks past the island and over the shimmering water. In the distance, the sky has remained dark. Storm clouds are gathering, and when she listens closely, she hears lightning crackling softly over faraway water.

“Do not worry, Pietyr,” Katharine says, and their bickering stops. She turns and smiles a queen’s smile, with a queen’s confidence. Then she looks back at the sea and the confrontation that is about to take place there.

“Neither of my sisters will be returning to the island. The crown and the throne are mine.”





THE SEA





Arsinoe steps up to the railing and watches the shore move farther and farther away. If they manage to pass through the net of mist, they will watch the whole island grow smaller, until it is only a shape, and then a dot, and then gone.

Something furry brushes her shoulder. Camden, paws on the rail beside her, growling down at the waves. Arsinoe ruffles the big cat’s scruff and pulls her down to take her back to Jules.

Joseph smiles up at her from Jules’s arms. “Here we are again,” he says. “The three of us, in a boat.”

Arsinoe tries to laugh. But he is so pale. The makeshift bandages are soaked through with blood.

“We should put Cam below,” she says to Jules. “Somewhere soft, or in a crate, before the journey turns rough.”

“Will you put her there for me?” Jules asks. She will not leave Joseph. Not until they find a healer on the mainland.

Arsinoe takes the cougar below to find a space for her.

“Put her in a cabin,” Billy says, following her down. “That will be the safest spot.”

They find the best one together, and Arsinoe kisses Camden’s head before shutting her inside.

“How soon can we get to the mainland?”

“I think that depends on Mirabella, doesn’t it? And the mist? I mean, I don’t like to think about what happened the last time—”

Before he can say anything foolish, Arsinoe throws her arms around him and kisses him. He is surprised, and stiff, but it is better this time, without a mouthful of poison. She leans into his chest, and he holds her tightly. It is better than a great number of things.

“We’d better get back up,” she says after she lets him go.

“Right. Back up,” he mumbles, and follows her up the stairs.

They have left Bardon Harbor behind. The guards from the wakened city were too late, and their horses’ hooves skidded to a stop on the shore. No one bothered to unmoor a ship to give chase, knowing that they could not catch up to Mirabella. And now, the dawn spills across the water in a thousand yellow sparkles, and the sea is calm.

Perhaps they have truly been let go and the mist will part like a drawn-back curtain.

The winds ruffle their collars at first and whip a little hair into their eyes. For as long as the skies remain clear they pretend it is only wind. A good sailing wind, to help them along. When the first of the mist slithers across the waves they try to pretend it is only fog, or froth. But soon enough the mist is a wall, and the storm is a gale. It is the Goddess, bearing down.